


Someday out of the blue

by Ailendolin



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Merlin, Kingsman: The Golden Circle Fix-it, M/M, Pre-Slash, merlin lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailendolin/pseuds/Ailendolin
Summary: Harry may have forgotten Merlin’s favourite singer but there is more to Merlin’s taste in music than John Denver. A lifetime ago, Harry promised to take Merlin to a concert. He never did.“If I save the world, can I have two tickets to your next concert?”It’s too little, too late.





	Someday out of the blue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally my first foray into the Kingsman fandom. Hooray! As so many people I was not exactly happy with Merlin's fate in Kingsman The Golden Circle, hence this story. I hope you'll like it. 
> 
> I'm not a native English speaker, so please excuse any errors you may (and probably will) find. Point them out to me and I'll do my best to get rid of them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Kingsman or any of the characters associated with this franchise and I don't make any money with this.

**Someday out of the blue**

There are people who like music, who enjoy listening to it from time to time and use it to relax on the way home from a long hard day at work; who don’t pay much attention to a song when it plays quietly in the background but appreciate it for the noise it makes; who listen to the radio every day but don’t bother to remember the names of the songs that fill the quiet spaces in their lives.

And then there are people who love music, who positively live it and can’t help but start to tap their feet to a catchy tune; who enjoy the acoustic of great concert halls but value that of small, intimate venues even more; who laugh at funny songs and cry at sad melodies that make their hearts constrict and ache; who care more for a simple guitar and honest voice than flashy effects and auto-tuned high notes.

Harry Hart has always counted himself firmly among the first group. He enjoys listening to music as much as the next person but he doesn’t particularly need it in his life. He’s just as happy with silence, prefers it most of the time, actually.

Merlin, on the other hand, hates silence – something Harry learned in his early days at Kingsman when he found Merlin one morning passed out at his desk in the lab after pulling an all-nighter, John Denver playing quietly in the background.

_How could I ever forget this?_

When Merlin isn’t handling a mission, there’s music in his lab. More than once Harry caught him quietly singing along to a song without ever losing his concentration on the task at hand. The words come to him automatically and without thinking, nothing more than an afterthought of something he’s heard so often it has become ingrained into his very being. Whenever Merlin doesn’t sing there is toe-tapping or head-nodding, sometimes finger-twitching when he’s writing reports and mulling over how to phrase something particularly delicate that Arthur’s not going to like.

The thing is, Merlin thrives on music in a way Harry never understood but found enchanting, nonetheless. So much so that after years of knowing him Harry remembers all of Merlin’s favourite songs. Not all of them are from John Denver. Merlin’s taste in music isn’t restricted to Country. There’s a Scottish band named Runrig he prefers to listen to on stressful days that Harry himself has grown quite fond of over the years, not that he’d ever admit it. There are also the occasional film scores playing quietly and soothingly in the background when Merlin is tinkering with especially sensitive equipment – _Titanic_ being one of Merlin’s favourites much to Harry’s amusement because Merlin absolutely hates the movie and never fails to be quite vocal about his distaste for the love story whenever the topic comes up.

And sometimes, when Merlin is too tired to think about what he wants to listen to, there is Elton John playing in the lab. 

 _No_ , Harry reminds himself, _sometimes there_ was _Elton John playing in the lab_.

There is no lab now, and no music.

Only memories.

He may have forgotten about John Denver but Harry still remembers the countless times Merlin dragged him to the cinema to see _The Lion King_ in the 90’s and, later, _The Road to El Dorado_. He remembers how much Merlin liked _Candle In The Wind_ until that one horrible day happened and he stopped listening to it altogether. He remembers his excitement about the musical _Billy Elliot_ opening in London and how bright his smile was the first time he got to listen to the cast recording. And he remembers a karaoke party a few years ago, courtesy of James, and Merlin singing _Your Song_ slightly off-key without ever taking his eyes off Harry.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, Harry still wonders if he’d missed their chance, back then.

Now he’ll never know.

When he sees Elton John in Poppyland he can’t help but ask, “If I save the world, can I have two _tickets_ to your next concert?” because he knows Merlin always wanted to go and once upon a time Harry promised to take him.

It’s a promise he broke, just like so many others he had made to Merlin.

“Come home safely,” Merlin used to say before Harry went on a mission.

“I will,” Harry never failed to promise, naïve as he had been back then.

It became a ritual for them, something they said out of habit without thinking too much about it. At least, Harry didn’t. With each mission he came home from with barely a scratch the words became a little less meaningful and a bit more cocky. Harry got so used to being lucky that there wasn’t a single thought of doubt in his mind he’d make it home, safe and sound, whenever he went out into the field.

Until the day he didn’t come back.

That was two years ago, and Harry can’t even begin to imagine how Merlin must have felt when his feed went black that day.

 _Much like I am now, I suppose_ , he thinks grimly, reaching for the bottle of Scotch in front of him and pouring himself a generous amount. For a moment he stares at the amber liquid, twirling it around the glass thoughtfully, before he shakes his head and places it back on the table in his Statesman-issued quarters, careful not to stain the various documents strewn across it.

_That’s not what Merlin would have wanted. Or done._

Harry likes to think he knows Merlin better than anyone. They’ve spent so much of their lives together that Harry hardly remembers a time when he hadn’t known Merlin. For the both of them, Kingsman had always come first, no matter what tragedy had befallen them or how many friends and colleagues they had lost. _The show must go on_ (another one of Merlin’s favourite songs, Harry remembers) and grief has no place in a life-or-death, save-the-world kind of situation. Merlin never would have turned to alcohol as long as he still had a job to do and judging from what he had been told about the weeks and months after he’d been shot, Merlin had had his hands full after V-Day. With both Arthur and Galahad gone and the world in shambles, it had taken months to get Kingsman back on track and running efficiently again – months in which Merlin had been acting as Arthur on top of his duties as Quartermaster.

Harry wouldn’t be surprised if, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, Merlin had simply forgotten to allow himself to grieve and buried his feelings all beneath a mountain of work. Looking at all the papers in front of him, Harry wonders how he did it. There is so much to do, so much to rebuild, so much to repair but Harry can’t concentrate on any of it even though he knows he should and he needs to. They can’t rely on Statesman forever and there are agents whose bodies need to be found and buried and survivors of their personnel who await his orders on how to proceed in this unprecedented situation.

They need an Arthur but Harry can’t fill that role if all he can think about is Merlin.

Merlin, who stupidly and heroically sacrificed himself for Kingsman and their mission in the ultimate way. As if the years of giving everything he had to Kingsman hadn’t been enough of a sacrifice already. Merlin shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have been in the field with them at all. He belonged behind a desk where it was safe, a soothing and guiding voice in Harry’s ear just as he’d been for all these years.

 _Except there isn’t a desk anymore_ , Harry thinks. _And it wasn’t as safe as I thought it was._

He wipes a tired hand across his eyes. The butterflies are gone now. In their place is a melody, a deep voice Harry hopes he’ll never forget. Just like the butterflies it’s a painful reminder of a lost past, a future never lived. He never became a lepidopterist. He never took Merlin to that concert.

The first one he doesn’t regret – the second one he will never forgive himself for.

With a sigh, Harry reaches for a tablet beneath all the schematics of Kingsman properties Ginger ( _Whiskey, now_ , he reminds himself) found hidden in one of their safes. With a heavy heart, he scrolls down the list of people they lost.

_Arthur, deceased._

_Merlin, deceased._

_Elyan, deceased._

_Tristan, deceased._

The list goes on and Harry feels numb. So much loss. So much death. So many friends who never stood a chance.

It’s a relief when he reaches the names of those whose fate is still unknown.

_Lancelot, presumed dead._

_Percival, presumed dead._

_Bedivere, presumed dead._

The list is considerably shorter than the first one and Harry fears it will get even shorter the next time he hears from Guinevere. As the highest ranking survivor still on home soil, Merlin had put her in charge of locating their agents after Poppy’s attack on Kingsman before he set off for Kentucky. Harry doesn’t expect her to find anyone still alive, not after what Merlin and Eggsy told him about the attack but he fiercely hopes Guinevere will prove him wrong.

Most likely, though, he and Eggsy are the only agents left of what used to be a flourishing organisation. Apart from an outpost in Scotland all their infrastructure has been destroyed. Kingsman, for all intents and purposes, is dead and gone. It will take months if not years to rebuild everything from the grounds up, to train new personnel – to find a new Merlin.

A part of Harry doesn’t even want to consider reassigning Merlin’s title. It feels wrong and he can’t imagine calling anyone by that name except his Merlin. No one will ever be able to replace him, of that Harry is more than certain, and he wonders how he’ll ever get things up and running again without Merlin’s professional and emotional support. If need be Kingsman can function without an Arthur for a given time – Merlin, however, is the backbone of the organisation. Without him, Harry doesn’t even know where to start.

He allows himself a moment of despair and hides his face in his hands. Briefly, for just a second, he wishes Eggsy had never woke him up. He wants to go back to being the lepidopterist, blissfully ignorant of the emptiness Merlin left behind. But he can’t, no matter how much his heart aches with loss and grief and regrets to last him a lifetime. Kingsman depends on him and if there’s one thing Harry is sure of it’s that Merlin would have wanted him to go on and honour his sacrifice – just like Merlin had been forced to two years ago.

Harry sighs. Merlin had always been the stronger one out of the two of them.

Right now, with Poppyland and John Denver still so fresh in his mind, Harry’s not too ashamed to admit to himself that he doesn’t want to go on, doesn’t want to focus on a future that holds nothing for him anymore except two tickets to a concert he will never use.

 _I’m so sorry, Merlin_ , he thinks.

There’s a quiet knock on the door and only years of Kingsman training stops Harry from startling. He takes a deep breath, schools his features into a neutral expression before he clears his throat and says, “Enter.”

It’s Whiskey, her face as white as if she’s seen a ghost. The moment her eyes meet Harry’s she breaks out into a relieved smile. “Harry. We have Merlin.”

Harry swallows hard. “So we do have something to bury, at least,” he murmurs, unable to look at her bright young face.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Whiskey shake her head. “No, Harry, you don’t understand – Merlin’s alive.”

“Alive,” Harry parrots stupidly. His thoughts screech to a halt and the quiet singing in his mind evaporates into blissful silence. He stares up at Whiskey, not understanding or perhaps not willing to understand. “I watched him getting blown to pieces. How can he possibly be alive?”

“Because he’s a lucky bastard,” Whiskey says with a wobbly smile, “and a genius.” Harry’s confusion must show plainly on his face because she goes on, “Merlin came prepared, Harry. He counted on the explosion not killing him directly. When our agents found him his legs were gone but the wounds were closed off with the Alpha-Gel. He must have sneaked some out when you guys left and used it on himself. Unconventional but brilliant, really.” She grins proudly. “He bought us enough time to find him and save him.”

Harry lets out a huff of a laugh and pretends it isn’t more of a sob. Whiskey does him the courtesy of not calling him out on it. “That does sound like Merlin.” He looks up at Whiskey and for the first time since Poppyland allows himself to hope. “He’s really alive? You’re sure?”

Whiskey beams at him. “He’s already on his way back and my people have started treating him. His vitals are stable and the nanites are doing their work. There’s nothing we can do about his legs, I’m afraid, but he’ll live, Harry. He’ll definitely live.”

“He’ll live,” Harry whispers, the truth of her words finally sinking in.

He doesn’t even try to attempt to stop the waves of relief from crashing over him. Tears drip from his one good eye and Whiskey discreetly hands him a handkerchief. Harry smiles up at her gratefully. “I already owe you so much,” he begins. “You saved my life, you helped us stop Poppy and promised your support while we rebuild. And now you’ve gone and saved me once again by bringing him home.”

For a moment Whiskey stares at him in confusion before her face softens in realization. She places a strong, supporting hand on his shoulder. “He’ll be here in two hours. I’ll make sure you can see him whenever you want once he’s out of surgery.”

“Thank you, Whiskey,” Harry whispers. “For everything.”

Whiskey gives him a smile. “Anytime, Harry.” She squeezes his shoulder before letting go. “And I mean that.”

She’s gone as quickly as she appeared and Harry stares after her, at the closed door, in quiet shock and wonder. He breathes out – once, twice – before his hand finds its way into his jacket pocket. Fingers close around smooth paper.

Two VIP tickets. Backstage pass included.

Harry stares down at them.

_Farewell Yellow Brick Road._

They represent his last chance to make good on a promise he shouldn’t have forgotten about. It’ll be Elton John’s last tour and Harry will damn well make sure Merlin gets to see it and dance to the music he’s loved for decades, legs or no legs. He’s going to make Merlin smile and laugh and grin and forget about all the broken promises, the lost chances, the pain they’ve suffered and the sacrifices they have both made. And he’s going to make Merlin a new promise, one he intends to keep for the rest of his life.

“You will never have to ask me to come home safely again,” Harry vows hours later with Merlin’s hand cold and fragile beneath his fingers. “Because I’m going to stay, Merlin. I’m finally ready. Sorry it took me so long.”

Merlin doesn’t react, still under heavy medication to keep him comfortable after his ordeal. But he’s there, he’s real and his cold hands are as familiar as the gentle rise and fall of his chest and that’s enough. It’s the kind of silence Harry always loved best.

It’s also the kind of silence Merlin hates the most, so with a smile Harry gently taps the tablet Whiskey gave him and hits play.

“ _Someday out of the blue_  
_In a crowded street or a deserted square_  
_I'll turn and I'll see you as if our love were new_  
_Someday we can start again, someday soon ..._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes to explain some things:
> 
> (1) I have honestly no idea if the Alpha-Gel could work this way but hey, the whole concept of it is already pretty ridiculous, so I figured it doesn't really matter as long as it means Merlin lives. 
> 
> (2) I deliberately gave Roxy and Percival the status "presumed dead" and not deceased because I refuse to believe they were killed off just like that. Roxy is awesome and I've loved Percival since the first movie (still not over Lancelot/James's death, tbh), so feel free to assume that Guinevere does indeed find them alive. 
> 
> (3) Harry and Merlin aren't in a relationship in this story - but they've loved each other from afar for years. It's my personal headcanon that they've never really said anything to each other about it because Kingsman rules forbid it and the old Arthur wasn't exactly progressive. They were also afraid to compromise their working relationship as handler and agent. Because of all that, Harry told Eggsy in the film he's never been in love - because he never had a chance to find out what falling for Merlin and being loved back by him feels like. 
> 
> (4) The song Harry plays at the end is "Someday out of the blue" by Elton John from The Road to El Dorado. The phrase "Farewell Yellow Brick Road" is the actual title of Elton John's last tour.
> 
> (5) I've thought about doing a prequel to this about Merlin after Harry had been shot in Secret Service. Not sure if I'm going to write it but let me know if you'd like to see more in this verse. 
> 
> Last but not least, I would like to thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my little dabbling in this fandom!


End file.
